THE VENTANA.
Tom Lambourne's face wore somewhat of a blanched hue, through which
the stripes of his tattooing seemed blacker than ever. A severe cut
on his forehead, from which the blood was oozing, did not add to his
personal appearance. He scarcely knew a word of Spanish, but seemed
instinctively aware that we had fallen into hands nearly as dangerous
as his former acquaintances the Mussolongos, for he said,--
"Master Rodney, I fear we have run our last knot off the log-line,
and our sand-glass won't run again, unless heaven gives the order _to
turn_. Yet, if I could but get one of these muskets, to have a shot
at the rascally cargo-puddlers before it's all over with us, I would
be content. As it is, I am all over blood from clew to ear-ring, and
they have wellnigh choked me by shaking a quid down my throat."
"Hush, Tom," said I, for I was listening to a discussion which took
place among the Spaniards.
"Do you understand their lingo?"
"A little."
"What are they saying?" he asked, with growing interest.
"I will tell you immediately."
But as they all spoke at once in the sonorous Spanish of the
Catalonian coast, mingled with obscure slang and nautical phrases,
some time elapsed before I could understand them. Meanwhile, how
terrible were the thoughts that filled my mind.
If these fellows murdered and cast us into that awful chasm, the deed
would never be known; until the day of doom, our fate and our remains
could no more be traced than the smoke that melts into the sky. Even
if we escaped unhurt, but were detained so long that the brig sailed
without us, what would be our condition, penniless, forlorn, and
unknown, in that foreign island? But this was a minor evil.
Then I burned to revenge the lawless treatment to which we were
subjected, and the blows and bruises their cowardly hands had dealt
so freely.
"Companeros," I heard one say, "one of these fellows is tattooed, and
would sell very well to the South American planters with the rest
that will soon be under hatches. He is worth keeping, if he cannot
ransom himself; as for the _other_----"
"_El muchaco!_" (the boy) said they, glancing at me.
"Si--el page de escoba--if he is allowed to return, a complaint may
find its way to the Senor Alcalde, whose alguazils may come and
borrow our topsails and anchor for a time; whereas, if we heave him
where the others went yesterday----"
"Where?"
"Into the ventana, hombre!" was the fierce response; "and then no
more will be heard of the affair."
My blood grew cold at these words, and I scarcely knew what followed,
till the first man who spoke came forward and addressed us.
"Inglesos," said he, "we have decided that one of you, after swearing
not to reveal our present hiding-place, shall return within four
hours, bearing a fitting ransom for both, else, so surely as the
clock strikes, he who is left behind goes into the ventana of the
mountain, where never did the longest deep-sea line find a
bottom--not that I suppose any man was ever ass enough to try.
Santos! do you hear?" he added, striking his musket-butt sharply on
the rocks, when perceiving that Tom was ignorant of all he said, and
that I was stupefied by it.
"Si, senor," said I, and translated it to Tom Lambourne, who twirled
his tarry hat on his fore-finger, stuck his quid in his cheek,
slapped his thigh vigorously, and gave other nautical manifestations
of extreme surprise and discomposure.
"Ransom, Master Rodney?" he reiterated; "in the name of old Davy, who
would ransom a poor Jack like me?"
"The whole crew would table their month's wages on the capstan
head--aye, in a moment, Tom," I replied with confidence.
"I'm sure they would, and the Captain and Master Hislop, too, for the
matter o' that, rather than poor shipmates should come to harm;
but----"
"As for _me_," said I, with growing confidence, "I am, as you said,
senores, only the page de escoba."
"Bah!" said the Spaniard, grinning, and showing a row of sharp white
teeth, under a dirty and sable moustache; "though I said so, I knew
better. A shipboy seldom has a watch like _this_," he added,
displaying my gold repeater. "Now, we shall keep _you_; and if this
seaman--after he has first sworn that he will not betray us--does not
return to us here with five hundred dollars within two hours after
sunset, _par el_"--(here he made a dreadful vow in Spanish), "we will
toss you like a dead dog into the ventana of the mountain. Look
down, and see what a journey is before you," he added, with a
diabolical smile, as he dragged me to the beetling edge of the chasm,
and forced me to look into it.
Our eyes had now become so accustomed to the light of the gallery or
grotto, that the rays of sunshine falling through the fissure above
us were sufficient to disclose a portion of the vast profundity on
the verge of which we stood.
From the earth's womb, far, far down below, there came upward a
choking steam, with a hollow buzzing sound, which deepened at times
to a rumble.
This steam or mist rose and fell on the currents of air; sometimes it
sank so low that nothing but a black and dreary void met the eye,
which ached in attempting to pierce it. Anon the steam would rise in
spiral curls from that gloomy bed below, where doubtless the fires of
the now almost extinct volcano seethe their embers in the waves of
the ocean.
The words "have mercy," were on my lips, but I could not utter them;
nor would they have availed me. Ignorant of what the ruffian said,
and believing he was about to thrust me in, poor Tom Lambourne, in
the fulness of his heart, uttered a howl of dismay; and at that
moment the sentinel, whom the gang had left at the entrance to their
lurking-place, came hurriedly in, with alarm expressed in his
glittering eyes, and a finger placed, as a warning, on his hairy lip.
"Para! Paz! Silenzio!" (hold--peace--silence), he exclaimed, and
added that four officers from the garrison of Santa Cruz had
dismounted in the ravine, unbitted their horses, and had seated
themselves under a tree to smoke.
This information was received by the band with oaths and mutterings
of impatience; and by us with mingled emotions of hope and
agony--hope that they might be the means of our escape or rescue; and
agony to know that such means were so near, and yet could avail us
nothing; for on the slightest sound being made by either of us, there
were the Albacete knives of our captors on one hand, and the
ventana--that awful ventana--on the other, to insure forever the
silence and oblivion of the grave.
Not the least of my sufferings was from the cord which secured my
wrists. Already the skin was swollen, cut, and bleeding in
consequence of the tightness with which these wretches had bound me.